


Bed-Rest is Best

by Duchesse



Category: Howl's Moving Castle - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gender Neutral, Gender Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Reader Insert, Romance, Sickfic, in which howl is somewhat supportive, reader interactive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 07:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duchesse/pseuds/Duchesse
Summary: Whether by allergies or the carelessness of small children, you are bedridden and unable to leave. Howl comes to your side and manages to pull the deepest feelings from the deepest recesses of you heart.[Howell Jenkins | Howl Pendragon/Reader].





	Bed-Rest is Best

**Author's Note:**

> god, have i ever posted any of my howl's moving castle fics here? idk. i forget. anyway, yeah.

Sophie supposed the malady came on the winds of spring; carrying with it all manner of sickness, unpleasantness, and turbid air just the thinnest tinge of green from particles of pollen. She herself felt the effects of the great thaw, the budding tulips of richest hue, and the haze that drew over head like a personal cloud of suffering all her own.

Of course, old Sophie had a way of dramatizing, meanwhile simultaneously catastrophizing stuff, so you knew to listen to her words loosely, with a solemn nod that you also shared similarly in those feelings. To a lesser degree than her, you were already aware your forced bed-rest could be attributed to allergies.

Or, something else you considered, it could have been the number of sputtering children who yet not knew to duck their faces in a tissue or their arms; it could have been the last embrace you shared with your sickly aunt. It could have been so many things that you had to press the pads of your fingers into your temples to subdue the stab of a headache building beneath them.

“Michael and I are going to Market Square to get supplies and bone broth. That’ll whip you into shape in no time.” Sophie anchored her fists atop of the bulky layers of her skirt, nearly losing them from how deeply they sunk. “Don’t you dare think about moving until we get back, hear me?”

“What about customers?” you couldn’t say you were disappointed by her firm demand, though all the same it made you restless. Even in times where illness or injury got you down, rest eluded you like fine sand slithering through crevices in your fingers. “Howl went off and blew half our income on that- that, damn, what was it? Some kind of enchanted flute? The more customers we serve, the more we can stash away.”

Sophie’s nostrils widened while her shoulders sagged forward with her breath. Her eyes lost their hardness, ebbing into something far warmer; motherly almost. As you shifted anxiously beneath the covers, she came back around and began tucking them under your body once again, sure to secure you tighter than before. In fact, you were so caught, so much in your cocoon that you only saw the grey ball of wadded hair pinned atop her head bounce as she rounded you.

“Just stay down you worrywart,” she sighed, heels tapping the floorboards in a collected gait. At your head, she was careful to fluff the feathers in your pillow. “Between us, I’ve been putting a bit aside here and there. Just enough so he cant go buy another one of those enchanted suits. I’d like to know the dealer he’s getting them from and have a word with them myself.”

Your lips curled up at the mention and honestly you believed she actually would. “Where is Howl, anyway? I thought he was around.”

“Good grief, I almost wish he wasn’t. He’s been banging around in his room for hours now.” Old Sophie threw her hand towards the adjacent wall, upper lip curling as she continued, “Says a lot that you haven’t heard a lick of it.”

That was enough to get you to concede to her obstinacy, letting the weight of your head- suddenly a strain on your neck- fully rest atop of the pillow she had fixed. The more she talked about you needing to stay in bed, drink bone broth and saltines, the more you felt the lead in your limbs anchoring you to the mattress and the world floating around you when you closed your eyes.

It was any guess to you when it was the moment Sophie slipped out of your room with that hobbled gait of hers. You had been vaguely aware of her giving your cushion a bit more lusciousness, and then warmth of her palm covering the space of your forehead, giving a fretful tongue click. Behind your heavy eyelids, your eyes floated after her tiny footfalls, but that at once made your bed feel like a boat crashing through cresting waves.

So, you finally resigned to your fate of her and Michael’s care; finally let the stone in your bones meld you into the bed like beige boulders sinking further into the earth and undergrowth with coming centuries.

The silence that surrounded you was enthralling, probably the only true amount of peace you had had in a long time, considering your days were often brimmed with mediating Sophie and Howl’s explosiveness, meanwhile still cooking up meager spells and manning the business with Michael.

In your weariness and delirium, a thought crossed your mind in a drawl: what about Calcifer, did he need more wood? You anticipated his voice bursting out soon, imploring attention in any number of ways. What of the front door? You expected a knock to come soon, and then another, and another, and perhaps a dozen more. That was money well needed.

What of Sophie? Your thoughts continued. Would she need you to help with the scrub the floors, the untouched crevices of the castle? Maybe she wanted to give you a knitting lesson later, or expand on her tutelage of weaving hats.

Oh, and Howl. God, how could you forget Howl? The man felt like a job all it’s own. Surely he intended to go out again and woo many the loveliest in Market Chipping, or hell, maybe he’d move the castle somewhere else for the night to do that. You expected him to hunt you down, throw open your door; barge through the threshold with his hair aflutter and eagerness in his eyes- where did you and Miss Nose stash his suits? His guitar wasn’t where he left it, where was it? Neither if you meddled with the charm over his door, right?

As it turned out, you mumbled in your sleep, or at least in your discombobulated state. Your head rustled the feather pillow, lolling to one side and then the other as sweat prickled your forehead in cold beads. Behind your eyelids, Sophie’s nimble and darkly spotted hands worked on a suit, meanwhile Michael was ran ragged around the castle to try to fulfill orders, Calcifer bellowed for attention and eggs and bacon, and Howl’s hair whipped up in the breeze as he spun round and round with another lovely.

Your entire face twitched when a large hand smoothed across the top of your head, a damp weight of something laid spread across your forward; unpleasant and clammy unlike Sophie’s warm hand. “Hey. Don’t take the newt from the shelf, it’ll get on the floor.”

Howl gave bemused smile that took a while to dissipate. You continued to babble incoherently here and there about things you didst remember saying, while the peaks of his knuckles simply rocked across your temple and cheek.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I pray that Sophie has made herself useful instead of sticking her nose in on us again.” He said with lightness in voice, peering across his shoulder towards the bolted doorway to be sure. “Good. She seems to think I only make you worse in these states. I would never.”

You were sure you were hearing his voice at this point, rousing you from the cluster in your head until your eyes fixed with his; wonderful and marble-like. They were softer than usual, glittering like the sea when the sun hung its highest, making the water like a trove of dazzling treasure.

“Your eyes are amazing, Howell.” You whispered hoarsely, swallowing through the desert in your throat. “I don’t notice them enough.”

His smile took on something brighter, almost as though delighted you took notice in something that menial. “I would agree with you there! You can look as long as you’d like, tell me more about it.”

“I think about us sometimes, Howell.” It was a strange feeling right now, the words you spoke were the first to float forward in your mind. You knew you were speaking garbled silliness, still you didn’t think better of it. “I remember college together, before we came to Ingary. I remember how you used to look before you… started doing the enchantment stuff. I feel like I’ve forgotten you.”

The lines in his lips were significantly deeper as they pulled down, his hand halted against your skin. It was either the thought that you felt such a disconnect from him, or the reminiscence of who he once was that brought the sullen look of his on. No longer was there a glitter of childish joy, but rather of anxiety, of concern.

“Nonsense, you’re talking nonsense just like Sophie and Calcifer.” He moved closer to you on the bed, rolling your arm from its spot as the mattress dipped. Next, the pillow cradling your head flattened, his hands cuffed into the thick fabric as he leaned across you, your eyes only able to see him. “I… I’m still here. I have not left you, I wouldn’t entertain the thought. Didn’t I tell you that wherever I’d go from here on out, you would have to be right with me?”

You only wished he’d tell you such things in every other state of being, instead of during peak of being bedridden. “I want to believe you, but in this world I am as ordinary as the hat makers and bakers. I’m replaceable, I wonder if that will happen one day.”

Noticeably distraught from the creases deepening around the corners of his mouth, and his eyes flitting wildly around your face as though in panic. He came down onto his elbows, caging you below him as his fear neared, his hot breath inches away.

“What makes you think I could ever replace you? Has someone put that bull into your head? Was it Calcifer, the pest? Was it a panderer we met the other day?” Now that he was so close to you, his voice had lowered and it rumbled. “Or, are you so sleep deprived, so loopy that you’re finally now telling me your heart?”

“Does it matter what I confess to you now?” you asked, pushing your head deeper into the feathers and farther from him. As you turned your face away, he shifted to gently coax your chin forward with the daintiest touch of his fingertips. “I would be alone in that venture. In a matter of five, six, ten years- I’ll have all the age and lines you hate. I’m sure I’ll shrink even more.”

“You do realize we have someone in our house who already looks like that.” He said this jokingly, of course, but even in your fever, your hand shot up to pinch his arm. “H-Hey, stop! Furthermore, you’re making up stuff, who would be to say you’d be alone with your heart?”

The explanation to that was obvious, considering the whole business with Calcifer and the Witch, but you didn’t want to think about it. In fact, at any opportunity to steer your mind away from that debacle, you found it.

Once again, you tried to look away from him; both sleep was beginning to weigh on your bones more than what you imagine Howl would if he were to collapse, and away from the furor gleaming in his eyes. And once again, he pulled you back towards him.

“Sick as you are, I’d like to prove it to you.” It was an unusual thing to hear from him considering all his caution with appearance and health. You wondered if he was desperate to alleviate you distrust. “Why are you looking at me like that? Close your eyes- yeah, I would rather not risk your germs, but some things can’t be helped.”

You weren’t sure if your eyes slid shut from gravity, or from some sort of internal desire for him to do this. Either way, his hand returned adjacent to the other near your hair, tugging slightly at the strands and his breath came so close you felt it tremble against your lips.

And then, all at once, his breath snagged in his throat as the door was thrown open, bouncing off the wall with such force it vibrated. In waddled Old Sophie, arms conveniently free of anything other than an old wood broom with long, spidery bristles that she held aloft across her shoulder, eyes blazing and the most malicious you had ever seen them.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone with this dog! This cretin, vile imbecile! This complete, utterly hopeless dolt!” She screeched, the layers of her dress billowed behind her as she started into the room as fast as her creaky old limbs could. “Get out, get out, get out! Away with you, you absolute user! Away! Away! Away! Begone!”

Howl yelped in surprise as the tiny old lady swung the broom with enough ferocity for you to feel the air gush and whoosh around you.

“You demented old coot! Swinging brooms and the like around, are you completely classless?!” he propelled himself upright, expertly ducking her onslaught until he was well out the door into the hall. “I wont forget this!”

As luck would have it, their bickering continued on even once they were out of the room, even into fifteen minutes later when Michael weaseled through the threshold with your bone broth and bolted the door behind him.


End file.
